Obligatory Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own ASOIAF or anything.

Summary:

AU. Sequel to "Second Sword of Braavos." This has been edited slightly for the story to make sense as a trilogy. ((A/N: Don't worry, I'll publish each one chapter by chapter, so it'll be fun to read along with!))

Braavos is an ancient and beautiful city of ships, wealth, and purple hulls. The world-renowned Courtesans of Braavos have their own barges and servants to attend them. With The Veiled Lady, the most-mysterious of these Courtesans, Syrio Forel had a lovely daughter, who would someday become the Queen of the Iron Islands.


Cadenzsa


Get up. He's coming.

"Where is he?" he asks pitifully to the two faceless women.

Stand. Hurry. Stand, hurry!

"Help me..." he whimpers.

Where are you? Why can't I find you?

"Help me...if he comes back..."

Get up, Theon. Stop crying. Please just get up and run to where you can signal for me.

"No, please, mercy! Mercy! I beg of you-!"

Somebody stop it. Somebody help him. Why isn't anybody helping him? Please, he's got a hooked blade!

"Would you say your cock is your...most important part?"

Run, Theon! Run!

"Please, no, please!"

Get away from him! Give me a sword! Somebody give me a sword!

"My Lady?" a voice carries.

Give me a sword! Give me a fucking sword!

"My Lady, wake up!"

Give me my sword! I'll cut you open, you little bastard! I'll gut you like a fucking pig!

"My Lady!"

"GIVE ME A FUCKING SWORD!"

When she opened her eyes, she was sitting up, in her nightshift, drenched in sweat, and her Grace was at the foot of the bed - looking more than rather annoyed, I might add- along with Qahari sitting at her bedside. Her face felt hot and puffy. Her hands were shaking, and her palms were so covered in clammy sweat that she couldn't grip her dagger, which she was gripping quite tight. She was in her bed; well, not her bed, but their bed. When she turned around, the Greyjoy Krakken banner was draped on the wall behind. She sighed a long breath and collapsed onto the flat of her back.

"My Lady, you were having a bad dream," soothed Qahari.

"Bad dream," japed the Iron Queen, "you were waking the whole castle. I hadn't heard screaming like that since Theon was cutting his baby teeth."

Cadenzsa's face flushed red from embarrassment. "I beg Your Grace's forgiveness," answered the Princess as she darted her eyes away. "I did not mean to wake you."

The Queen came to Cadenzsa's bedside. "You kept on screaming, 'give me a sword, give me a sword.' Why, may I ask, in your dreams, do you need a sword?"

She frowned and looked away. When she spoke, she kept her voice even. "I was dreaming of Theon," she said, "and how I wish I were at the battle beside him." It wasn't a lie, she told herself. Not really. Nobody needed to know of her visions. Nobody needed to know she was having them, especially when she was trying her damndest to learn a whole new culture and history and lifestyle to which she had not been bred to do. She was a sword, not a Lady, and certainly not a Princess. Swords fought. Ladies...well, she didn't quite know what Ladies really did, now did she?

Her good-mother shook her head with a smirk. "I used to have the same kind of dreams. In truth, mine weren't ever that violent."

Cadenzsa gulped as she sat up to hear the Queen's words.

"Those are the kind of dreams that my brother used to have. He would have nightmares about past battles he fought. He would keep me up at night, sometimes, too, but I would eventually get used to it. Then I married Balon, thinking I'd have to get used to nightmares worse, for he had seen a thousand battles more than my brother ever did..." Her Grace sighed, her silver hair shining in the streak of morning light that was peeking through the gray clouds over Pyke. "But you know, he never had a nightmare. Not once. He slept soundly through the night, and he would never stir nor budge nor even mutter in his sleep. He never even snored, if you can believe it. Had he not been so damn bony in the arms he'd have been the perfect person to share a bed with. Not until we lost the boys. He would awaken from a sleepwalk with his axe in his hand, as if he was reliving his nightmare. I realized then that a warrior only nightmares when he is ashamed of what he has done, of what they had seen, of what they could have changed."

Cadenzsa didn't know what to say.

"Well," she quickly dismissed with a smile, Theon's smile, "when you feel like wiping that sweat off, you may join me in the Kitchen Keep for supping our breakfast."

She wanted to laugh at the frankness of it, but it wouldn't have been proper. Before she could even think to stand and greet the Queen properly, she had left. It had been nearly a month since their wedding, and sleeping without Theon proved to be far greater a challenge than she had thought it would be, especially with these newfound powers of hers and no Maisi around to tell her what to do. For the first time in ages, she wanted her mother by her side.

Cadenzsa felt Qahari's hand on hers. "My Lady, it was only a dream. Nothing more. A dream cannot hurt you." Her smile was so sincere, and comforting, Cadenzsa wanted to believe that it was nothing more than a bad dream, and not a shadow of a vision. She would never forget the first time she'd had that same dream, the one where they peel Theon's flesh away from his withered and parched bones, and butcher and carve him up like a ham. She would never forget the Bastard's face that was doing it to him, smiling, blowing that stupid horn... She had been having the dream for so long now that she imagined that, even though she had fixed his future-supposedly-her heart had been stained too deep for too long with those kind of nightmares to ever get them away. She'd been screaming in her sleep since last year in Dorne.

Qahari had played more of an elder sister to Cadenzsa than anyone, and she had to come to accept that Qahari - although her servant - was the closest thing to having an elder sister that she'd ever have. Asha was still missing, and there was no word from her or her Black Wind. Qahari had come into the service of the Forels when Cadenzsa was thirteen and living in the Sealord's Palace. Qahari was sixteen, and beautiful, when Cadenzsa was all pudgy belly and face and a mop of black curls. It was Qahari that held Cadenzsa's hand and cared for her, and was the one that really had shown Darry how to be a real Handmaiden. With Qahari around, Cadenzsa was always taken care of well, and she was the only Bravos in the whole city, it seemed, that knew how to tame Cadenzsa's wild curls enough into a braid.

"With your permission," said Qahari, now a bonafide Commontongue-speaker, "we shall begin the day." She crossed over and opened all of Cadenzsa's curtains. Cadenzsa stretched. "Today, we have lessons with Her Grace until Mid-day, and then Maester Wendamyr has informed me that you are going to be escorted around Pyke by Lord Tristifer Botley."

"The island or the Castle?"

Qahari paused. "Er... Yes."

Cadenzsa stood up and bent low to touch her toes. "And who is Lord Tristifer Botley?"

Qahari went to Cadenzsa's wardrobe and thumbed through her gowns. "A member of House Botley, with Lordsport as their seat," she said. "Apparently, he was fostered here at Pyke after the rebellion, and has offered to be your escort today."

The Bravos stood up straight and did a morning cartwheel to get her back to pop out all the kinks, which worked, mostly. "I don't know how much longer I can take all of this," she said. "I'm not built to be royalty. I'm a Dancing Master, it was all I've ever wanted to be."

"You are a Dancing Master, my Lady, and that was your dream. Now you have it, and you are living a new dream." Qahari smiled. "You have led an extraordinary life, and I have been lucky enough to be witness to it. I know that it was never my Lady's desire to hold power, but now you hold the power of a Kingdom in your hand, and you can do wonderful things for these people. Now, let's get dressed."

And so Cadenzsa dressed, in one of her new 'Ironlady' gowns that she'd received from the Queen Alannys. It suited her, that dark charcoal gray, and she liked the trim of suede and leather, all with lace underneath at the sleeves and neck. Cadenzsa was slowly getting into the swing of being a Princess and what that meant. She came to the Kitchen Keep in the mornings to sup with the Queen and King, and listen in on their conversations and be the only daughter. She walked with her good-mother all around Pyke, listening to lessons of history and trying to memorize whose House was where and what their words were. It was dull, and dreary, and Cadenzsa had no patience for memorization.

"Mother," she finally said, surrounded by history books and all beside herself with a pounding headache. "I mean, er, your Grace-"

"-I've never liked the term 'your Grace,'" then mused the Queen. "Maester Wendamyr," she said. "from this day forward, seeing as we are now an independent Kingdom and no longer a part of the Westerosi realm, so instead let us have the royalty of the Iron Islands be addressed as...'Your Majesty.'" Cadenzsa's eyebrows went up. "No, no, wait...only Kings and Queens shall be 'your Majesty. A Prince or - " she looked at Cadenzsa with a smile "- a Princess shall be known as 'your Grace.' All Kings and Queens of the Iron Islands shall henceforth be addressed as 'Your Majesty.' Understood?" Cadenzsa smiled; Alannys was certainly getting used to the idea of being a Queen again!

"Er, yes, of course, your Gra-I mean, Your Majesty," said Maester Wendamyr. He and Cadenzsa exchanged a look and a shrug, and he went off to make it so.

"Well, your Majesty," said Cadenzsa. "With your permission, I'd like to throw a Masque."

"A what?" repeated the Queen, obviously thinking it was some kind of jape. "What for, my baby?"

"We would have them all the time back in Braavos, at the Sealord's Palace. It was a wonderful way for all of the Noble Houses to mingle and get to know each other, and in truth, good-mother, these books are doing almost nothing for me but making me want to outlaw books. You are, however, correct in saying that a Princess should know her people, but you cannot shake hands and share a joke with books. A Masque would be... Well, I'd like to throw one here at Pyke, so I can begin to get better acquainted with my new people. We have the money, now, to do so. And there will be more and more gold coming in with each purple-hulled ship that docks at Lordsport. There shall be a feast, and dancing, and I'll hire bards and other performers as entertainment. There will be a prize for the best costume, and we should invite every House on the Iron Islands, Noble and Knightly and all. And the only rule is that their costume must have something to do with their Heraldry."

The Queen hooted in a shrill cackle. "So you expect House Botley to show up in a coat made of fish? Or House Goodbrother to show up with a Warhorn strapped to their head? Gods, I wonder what House Saltcliffe would do..."

"Theirs is the House that everyone hates?" asked Cadenzsa, flipping through her piles of parchment and her books.

"No, dear, that is House Codd. We don't want them there... 'Though they Do Despise us.' What stupid words are those?"

She paused. "Rather stupid, your Gr- Your Majesty." She shrugged. After some consideration, and enough time to allow the idea to sink in, she offered: "House Kenning should be interesting. That's the symbol of the Storm God's hand with lightning, is it not?"

"It is."

"This will be an excellent way for me to learn the Iron Islanders Houses and the people. I could never sit and read, anyway. I learn best by doing." The Queen shrugged. "I promise, we can afford this Masque. Why, just the other day, we received two-hundred-thousand Gold dragons, and the documents for my shares from the Iron Bank, which are worth millions. As it turns out, my grandmother is beyond thrilled that her favorite granddaughter is a Queen-to-be." It was said with much more disdain than Cadenzsa had intended. Her grandmother, for whom she was named, had disowned her and her father for Cadenzsa's 'ruining the Forel's affluence in Braavos forever', as it had been so nicely put. Not only had they been completely cut off So what if she didn't want to wed the Sealord? Would you want to wed a man after he had conspired to have your beloved killed in cold blood in a way most gruesome? I didn't think so. And her grandmother, for whom she was named, should have been the one to stand at her side. But, no. Never. Love is only fair-weather, life had taught her, except when it came to her father. Even though they were wedded, she wondered if there was anyone half-so lecherous as Theon could be. She sometimes thought to look into the mirrors and see how he was, but she was too afraid to think he'd be with someone else...and that she'd have to kill the bitch for touching her husband.

"I don't know if it's so much about the money, my sweet. Balon isn't the type to throw these kinds of things. And, in truth, the Greyjoys are not the House to be throwing feasts and masques."

"It wouldn't be His Majesty's Masque, it would be mine." Why couldn't her mother be here? She was always better at throwing lovely affairs such as these. Cadenzsa was only good as a Dancing Master, and here she was trying to imitate her mother. "I would organize all of it. I have been spending so much time learning all of these Iron Islander songs and dances, I think it is high time I put this new knowledge to good use. And in times of war, people need entertainment and distraction. The people of the Iron Islands need to see that wealth that I am bringing in. With the wealth of the Forels and the Iron Bank of Braavos in our pockets, the Iron Islands will very well rule the world. And a Greyjoy may not be a gracious host, but a Forel certainly is."

The Queen paused and sat. She sipped some of the jasmine tea that Cadenzsa had provided; the steam curled around her gray face. "If the Iron Bank of Braavos owns the Seven Kingdoms Westeros, as you said it did, then you could end this war at the snap of a finger, could you not?"

Cadenzsa shrugged. "I don't know if a snap of my finger would cause all the men of Westeros to lay down their axes and kiss, but I could send word for the Iron Bank to collect its debt. The Crown of Westeros is not only in millions of dragons of debt to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, but it is in an even greater deal of debt to the Iron Bank of Braavos. In truth, the Lannisters' wealth would barely make a chip in what the whole of Westeros owes. We would have to seize all of Casterly Rock and their gold mines for the next many years to pay it all back, and that wouldn't touch the rest of the loans that are in Westeros. When a country is at war, the Iron Bank can call, if it wills, the Bravos to collect. The Iron Bank will have its due, we say in Braavos. They could cut off all of Westeros and throw them into an economic ruin, and the bank would then support the Iron Islands instead. The Lannister's gold mines would all belong to us, and the fields of Highgarden would be under the rule of the Iron Bank, too. The Bank would root the Baratheons from Dragonstone and put in someone else. They would take all the people of Mormont, the Sapphire Isles, and every bit of the North would be turned upside-down to get their money back. None of the land would be theirs, anymore, until the debt was paid off. And the Forels have the means to, at least, begin to pay it off. That's how it happens. A King or a Prince dishonors their debts to the Iron Bank, the Bank makes it so that a new King or Prince appears, and they make due on the debt, ensuring their newfound power. Money makes the world go 'round, not titles nor birthrights. Money."

The Queen smiled the Greyjoy's smile. "And you could make it so," she said.

"Not I," said the Princess. "My uncle, Mercurio Forel, is the one who could truly make it so. All he would have to do is sign a paper saying that it was time for Westeros to start paying back the debt."

"And what if they refused to pay because of the War?"

Cadenzsa shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. They would call on all Westerosi loans to be paid, all across the Realm, and they would refuse to give out any new loans until all debts are paid off. It would cause an economic chaos throughout the Realm."

The Queen laughed. "Such a clever girl, you are." She leaned in. "All of my children were clever, you know. Every single one of them."

"Even Theon?" mused Cadenzsa.

"Especially Theon, the little clown," said Alannys.

"Little clown?" laughed Cadenzsa.

"Oh, you're an only child, that's right. Well, what more-often-than-not happens is that the youngest child is the clown, the joker, the jester, the one that smiles and keeps the others from killing each other. And Theon was such a wonderful little clown. He had to be, with such rough souls as my little krakkens. Theon was so clever as a child; he was the clever one. Rodrik could have been the clever one, had Balon allowed it. Rodrik had been born with a gentle heart, until my King stamped it out of him. He became one of the most fearsome ship captains the Iron Islands had ever seen. We were planning on bequeathing him the Iron Fleet when Victarion died, but alas, my good-brother still lives. All three of those half-wits are alive, and my two boys are dead. If you ask me, it was them that should have died, not my boys. Euron is mad and terrifying and an absolute lunatic, and Aeron is a religious fanatic, and Victarion is..." Queen Greyjoy paused. "Well, I just don't like his beard."

It was too much; Cadenzsa busted out with a laugh. A knock came at the door. The brown-eyed Herald, the name of whom Cadenzsa had forgotten, announced through the door:

"Lord Tristifer Botley, your Majesty."

Cadenzsa stood and came next to her good-mother's chair. "He may enter," said Queen Alannys. The door opened, and Cadenzsa beheld a tall and handsome youth with a mop of hair that was messy and eyes that were kind and sweet and big. In a flash of his eyes when it came to meet the Queen's, he saw in his life-glow that of a man who had known to love Alannys as a mother. She saw the shades of four other boys with him, that had also been fostered there, and all of the good memories that came of their lives at Pyke, regardless of the Greyjoy rebellion. With a moment, she even saw that him and Asha, her good-sister whom she had not seen nor heard of since the wedding, had known each other. His aura was warm and romantic, and he was tormented with love; and then it happened.

"Announcing Lord Tristifer Botley of the House Botley, second son of Sawane Botley of Lordsport. My Lord, you are in the Presence of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Alannys Greyjoy, Queen of the Iron Islands, Reaper of Harlaw, Lady of the Ten Towers. My Lord, you are also in the presence of Her Grace, the Princess Cadenzsa Greyjoy, Tamer of Waves, Sister to the Sirens, and the future Queen of the Iron Islands." He bowed, and when he looked up he met Cadenzsa's eyes, and with a flash of seeing her face, Cadenzsa felt the magic within her turn. His face changed. Cadenzsa knew that face; it was the same face a man made when struck by her mother's beauty. And all at once he saw the love of Asha buried under an unending, undying lust for his new Princess. No, thought Cadenzsa. Please don't let me be cursed like my mother is...

"Tristifer, my boy," said the Queen, holding out her hand. He knelt and kissed it. "How good of you to come."

"My Queen summons me," he answered, in a voice that sounded, to Cadenzsa, a bit nasal. His large eyes were locked still on her face. She smiled as best she could without feeling jitters up and down her spine in a horrid uncomfortable feeling.

"Allow me to present my good-daughter, Princess Cadenzsa, the wife of my son Theon."

Cadenzsa offered her hand. "My Lord," she said.

"I am your servant, my Princess," he said, quickly taking a knee, and he kissed her hand. She heard his thoughts of 'Asha who? This is the most beautiful woman in the world.' He held onto her hand with a kind of odd desperation. "Ask anything of me, Princess, and it shall be yours." He declared.

The Bravos almost laughed. There was an uncomfortable silence. "May I ask that you relinquish custody of my hand?" He quickly retracted and bowed low. "No, please don't bow like that-"

"-Like what, Princess? Like this? Or would you prefer me bow like this?" He bent, then, at least four different ways, the Queen stifling a laugh or two. She could hear the thoughts of her Majesty, and of Tristifer, and it was becoming all too much.

"Alright, that's enough!" she then near-shouted. Cadenzsa gave a laugh. "Please, stand, and no more bowing. There's no need to worship at my feet." The Queen laughed.

"Tristifer, the Princess shall be escorted all about the island today,and she shall be shown as much of the isle as she likes."

"Of course she shall," said Tristifer with a smile.

There was a pause, and quite an awkward one at that, at least on Cadenzsa's end of things. "Shall we ride?" she finally asked.

"Of course, my Lady."

"'Your Grace,'" corrected the Queen. "And see to it that the Princess isn't harmed at all. See to it that she is well educated in all that she sees. If she is going to rule someday, she should know her people. And another thing: see to it that the word about the island is that they are to address the Princess as 'your Grace.' Understood?"

And so it was that Cadenzsa dressed in a soft trouser of grey-goose-color, and a smart long-coat of the matching shade, all lined with charcoal-colored silks, all covering warm wool shirts and a soft black leather boot which came smartly up to her knee. The Greyjoy Krakken necklace would have been replace by something else, but Theon had tied the knot so tight it could never be undone. Cadenzsa didn't mind it, really, but she didn't like the thought of wearing such a priceless thing out to ride. Either way, her sable mount, her wedding gift from her Uncle Victarion, rode her about Pyke, and to Lordsport, all the same, with Tristifer riding alongside her.

"I must admit," she said to Tristifer, "I am still a novice rider. There's nothing half-so-wary on a horse as a swimming fish, like me."

"I thought your sigil was a golden sea turtle, your Grace?"

Cadenzsa frowned and smiled all at once. "Very good, my Lord."

"All of the Islands have been talking about you since the wedding, Princess Cadenzsa. We have learned to recognize the purple-hulled ships and the golden sea turtles on the Braavosi ships that come in. Did you hear that there was even a song written recently? They call it 'Start Wearing Purple.'" He then laughed. "Perhaps if the Princess is pleased to do so, she could hear a bard sing it for her?"

Cadenzsa wasn't sure how she liked being referred to in the third person, but she was impressed that though her time on the Islands was so short, she had already begun to gain some fame. She was a bit used to fame from being back in Braavos, for being the youngest Dancing Master in Bravos history, and for her beauty, and wit, and charm. She liked it, of course, but only recently had she realized how valuable it was. When she had crossed the Narrow Sea, she found her friends were still loyal to her, and that - despite her history - there was still no Bravos alive that wouldn't gladly pick up a sword for her name or set sail if she commanded them to.

"I'm very interested in the culture of the Iron Islands," she said. "Especially their Songs and their music. And their dances. By the by, I plan to throw a Masque and invite all the Noble Houses of the Iron Islands. There shall be a prize for the best costume; I have not yet decided what the prize should be."

"If I may, your Grace, what is the occasion?"

Say something Theon would say, she thought to herself. Say something royal. "The occasion is that I will it to be so."

It must have been the right thing a Princess would say, since he bowed his head low. "As your Grace commands," he said. Cadenzsa found all of this rather amusing.

"The ride to Lordsport is a lovely one. And this is your hold?"

"It is, your Grace, and the Lord of Lordsport is my father, Lord Sawane Botley, if it pleases you."

"'If it pleases me,'" mused Cadenzsa quietly to herself with a laugh. "May I ask, my Lord, what will you do if it does not please me?" Lord Botley frowned in confusion. "Will you change your father's name? Or will it be made so that he is no longer the Lord of Lordsport?"

"Does it truly displease you, Princess?"

"No!" she laughed. "I don't even know your father. Will I meet him? Where is your hold? I don't remember seeing a castle here."

"In truth, your Grace, our castle was destroyed in the Greyjoy rebellion."

"Truly? And you have never rebuilt?"

"We have never had the means to do so, your Grace. Any trade that the Iron Islands can get must go to the people, not us. The Greyjoy rebellion took a great toll on the Islands. We paid the Iron Price for trying to win our freedom, it would seem."

The Bravosi shook her head in disbelief. "That is the most noble thing I have ever heard of a Westerosi doing. Truly, my heart is touched." She reached across and touched his hand, and his face flushed a pretty pink. For the first time, she'd thought a Westerosi man to be beautiful. Cadenzsa smiled. "Take me to the place where you live. I swear that we will rebuild. Now that I am here, I shall take care of all of you."

"But, your Grace-"

"No 'buts.' The Iron Islands shall have a golden age. Since I have been here I have seen a great strength of character in all those I meet. The Iron Islands is full of a mighty kind of people." She brushed a few lazy tendrils of hair behind her ear, and as she brought her hand down she felt the black pearls around her neck with her thumb. She was reminded of Theon; he was counting on her, and he trusted her to be here. She didn't know why, but somehow she liked the thought of being trusted with something. "Tell all you see, Lord Tristifer, that should they have any need, they come to Princess Cadenzsa Greyjoy from this day forward. I will rebuild, and the age of Iron will meld with an age of Gold."


Is this chapter a little boring? Mayhaps. But it's setting up for good stuff. I swear. :3 R&R!